


Come On

by 1010nabulation



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bad Pick-Up Lines, Bulges and Nooks, Drunken Confessions, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, Multi, Polyamory, Scars, Sweet/Hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 21:00:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6440374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1010nabulation/pseuds/1010nabulation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Psiioniic tries out every last terrible pick-up line he can think of, gets himself kicked out of a tavern, awkwardly makes a pass that <i>isn't</i> a joke, and ends up with way more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LupaDracolis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LupaDracolis/gifts).



As you follow your companions into the shitty dive of a tavern, you take a long, deep breath. Ahh, the stink of spilled fermented grain beverages and sweaty bodies. It's fucking disgusting, too loud in here, and too crammed with drunk, raucous trolls. But for now, you love it. You love it when you first arrive someplace new, in a town where no one knows you and your group of fugitive rebels yet or what you're all about. They'll run you lot out of town soon enough. You plan to make it count before that happens.

“All right, I'm going in.” You give Signless and Disciple each a pat on the back as you slip past them. “You kids stay out of trouble.”

“Don't worry, we'll make our own,” Disciple assures you, and you don't miss it when she gives Signless' ass a pinch. You can't help grinning at the way he jumps and catches her hand, face flushing. Public displays like that fluster him. Sometimes you wish you could tease him that way too; he's so fun to ruffle. And she's fun to rile up too...

Nope, not thinking about that. They're off limits. Too attached already. Too important to you. You're not letting your bulges fuck up the best thing in your life.

“Good,” you say, hand awkwardly raised as you walk into the crowd and away from them. Smooth, Captor. Good. Yep, good, they've got each other well in hand. You'll just have to find someone else to get your hands all over tonight.

“Hey,” you say as you sidle up to a pretty brown-blood sitting at the bar. His horns have really interesting cracks in them, like they should be shattered off, but aren't. “Nice rack.”

He glares and tells you to fuck off. You shrug. Some people can't take a compliment.

You get a drink and move on. Next you'll try something a little more subtle. A sweet-looking tiny burgundy has been eying you from the dance floor, so you think maybe you'll join them and their friends. You gulp down your drink and leave the glass behind, then head their way. The press of bodies makes you uncomfortable, but you persevere. The cute burgundy gives you a promising smile as you approach and whispers something to the curly-haired, curly-horned girl beside them.

You dance with the them for a bit, for a very lax definition of dancing... you aren't graceful by any means, but they seem charmed by your ineptitude. You decide to make your move. Placing a hand on their waist, you lean in and ask, “Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I'll give it back.”

They giggle and you give them a fangy smile. Yeah, you thought that was a good one. They reach up and tug at the collar of your shirt and when you oblige them and lean down again, they plant a soft kiss to your cheek. Holy fuck, that's cute.

You catch their lips to return the kiss and they pull away, a hand to their mouth. Oh shit. Too much. “Sorry,” you mutter, backing off, backing away and bumping into their friend, Miss Curly, “sorry, sorry.”

Yeah, okay, you can't do subtle and you can't do sweet. That's asking way too much. Quick and dirty, that's what you're about. That's all you've got time for and definitely all you can handle right now.

Your nerves shaken, you find your way back to the bar and down several more shots. The sugar-spiked alcohol burns your throat on the way down, but that's good. It distracts you. Settles you down and warms you up, loosens your limbs so you can go on and enjoy the night again.

Taking a deep breath, you let it out slowly and let your eyes rove the crowd. There are your companions, out on the dance floor now. Looks like Signless has managed to let himself go enough to be pressed right up against Disciple, dancing so suggestively it makes your belly warm. Maybe that's just the booze. Maybe you want to be right in the middle of that, both of them sliding against you...

Fuck.

He spots you and shoots you a smile and a wave. You give a him a half-hearted wave back, then tear your eyes away and call for another drink.

“Rough night?” a raspy voice asks.

You turn toward the troll sitting next to you at the bar and find yourself face-to-face with a woman twice your size and probably twice your age, with an impressive scar down the side of her face. Her horns are wickedly serrated. _Hello_. 

You're staring. You swallow and nod. “Rough. Maybe I like it that way, though.”

She laughs, full and throaty. Oh god, you want her to bend you over the bar and pail you right there.

“Sweetheart, you'd have to, weedy little thing like you.” She claps you on the back and you nearly spill your drink. “I ain't about to be the one to break you, though.”

Damn. “You sure? I definitely felt a spark just now, and it wasn't just my psionics.”

You waggle your eyebrows and throw some red and blue sparks to light up her glass.

She looks impressed, you think, as she lifts her drink to her lips and swallows it down, sparks and all. Her voice is warm and indulgent when she speaks. “Nice effects you got. But has that line worked on anybody yet, Sparky?”

You huff out a breathy laugh. “No.”

You only ever half expect your pick-up lines to work, anyway. It's entertaining enough just to see what kind of reaction you get. Whoever takes you up on your offer will have to have a good sense of humor, or at least will appreciate that about you, so you'll just have to keep trying until you find a willing audience.

“Well, don't let it get you down. You got guts. I like that.” She gives your shoulder a friendly shove. “Now get out there and try again. Someone in this tavern is bound to want to rough you up, kid!”

You have to steady yourself on her arm as you get up, swaying. Guess that's enough drinks. You're loose and light and feeling pretty good, and decide to put the moves on a feisty-looking teal lady next.

You lean against the wall next to her, give her your most mischievous grin, and simply say, “Insert witty pick-up line here.”

She laughs and replies, “Insert charmed smile.”

Your brows raise and you decide to push your luck. “Insert my bulge?”

What you get instead is her fist inserted into your face. Probably you deserved that. Her friends whoop with laughter as you go down, and you're smiling too, even as you clutch your jaw. “Insert apology and my highest compliments on your fistkind strifing,” you call after her as she storms off.

You strike out three more times after that. The night is getting on and you are no closer to getting it on. You tried all your best pick-up lines, even the definitely witty, 'Is it hot in here, or is it just you?' And he _was_ hot, you weren't even playing it up for pailing's sake. You are morally offended that one didn't work. You even told Disciple so when you ran into her and Signless out on the floor again. Signless shook his head, laughing, and said you should come up with some less superficial lines, but Disciple agreed—she would have pailed you if you used that line on her. You should use that line on her...

After getting shot down two more times (and taking another shot of sticky-sweet alcohol for each letdown), you finally decide that you're about done. Nobody in this town appreciates your style, or lack thereof. Just one more last-ditch attempt and you'll call it a night--you haul yourself up on top of a table, empty glasses shattering as you knock them to the floor. “All right,” you slur, pointing around the room at any troll you haven't yet approached, “which one of you has the lowest standards?”

And that is how you get yourself kicked out of the only tavern in town.

 

You're too drunk to even manage to control your psii enough to carry yourself back to the inn you're staying at.

“Mmmph, mmmfine,” you mutter into Disciple's ear as she carries you piggyback. You bury your face in her hair. So soft. So strong. “I can walk.”

“Okay! Go on, then!” She leans down and you go sliding, clutching at her hair and her strong shoulders.

You whine. “Can. Don't want to, though.”

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” she laughs. Disciple hefts you back up, with Signless helping to push you back into place.

“Gotta conserve my energy,” you say, catching Signless' hand and holding on to it as he straightens to walk beside you both. It's bold, not something you'd usually do, initiating contact like this. But fuck it. You want him close too.

He looks at you with his brows raised, light from the streetlamps dancing in his eyes. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I'm having a threesome later. Just need two more people. You in?” God, you _must_ be drunk to come on to them so openly like that. You give Signless your best shit-eating grin, letting out a breathy chuckle into Disciple's ear. It's a joke, see?

Disciple hums and you feel it when she turns her head toward Signless.

Oh no, they're doing that thing—that _thing_ where they communicate with each other in just glances and body language, and you've never ever been good at reading any of it. You can't even see Disciple from your position on her back, but you watch Signless' face. He looks... contemplative? Concerned? He shakes his head ever so slightly. Oh shit.

You swallow thickly, listening to the heavy crunch of their footsteps, the sounds of their breathing in the still, quiet night. No one's saying anything. You should apologize. You really stuck your frond in it this time, didn't you? You take a breath and lick your lips, readying a great avalanche of sorry's... then Signless squeezes your hand.

“Ask us again tomorrow, Mituna,” he says softly. “When you're sober.”

Your head spins. He called you by name. And that's not a no. It's not a yes, either, but... he called you by _name_ , here in public. They do that when it's just your crew alone together, use personal names. You've never been comfortable enough to do it yourself; it just feels so intimate. Like now. That felt intimate. Almost like a promise.

“'K,” you murmur. Slowly, you close your eyes. It's the last thing you remember.

 

The next night you are well and truly out of commission. Your head is pounding and every tiny sliver of light feels like it's sending bright shards straight into your eyes. You have so many regrets, such as all of last night.

Except for that bit at the end.

Dolorosa fusses over you all evening, even though you make it clear it's your own fault you feel so shitty. She doesn't care. She's too good to you. They all are.

Around midnight you shift in the bed, picking at the useless soporific patch on your arm. You can't sleep. “Where are Signless... Disciple?”

“I put them to work,” says Dolorosa from her seat across the room. You crack an eye open and see she's hard at work too, stitching up a pair of pants one of you managed to wear through at the knees. “It's market eve, so they're out selling some of the garments I made out of the nice satin we picked up in Gattar, and buying more material for me to work with if there's anything good available.”

You grunt to let her know you heard her. Where would any of you be without Dolorosa's creative eye? Not here in a nice warm inn for a change, that's for sure. You make a mental note to do something special for her when you're not too hung over to even speak.

If you know Signless and Disciple, they're also using their time out and about in the village as an excuse to make connections, gather insights into the community, and figure out the best way to approach the town with Signless' teachings. Probably goofing off, too.

You should be there. You're their look-out, their bodyguard, the one who'll blast through any obstacles to make sure they're safe. (And you don't want to miss out on all the shenanigans.) You try to rise, but before you can even lift yourself halfway out of bed, Dolorosa is there. She pushes water on you until you drink, then makes you lie back down again.

You sleep for a long time. Next time you wake, it's to the rich smell of cooking meat, and your mouth waters. You hear voices too--Dolorosa, also Signless and Disciple... of course they made it back fine without you. Your stomach rumbles and you feel like you could get up now, but you lie there a little while longer. You've been waiting all night to see them and now that they're here, you're feeling... awkward. Shy? You're not shy. You're just... okay, maybe you're a little afraid to face them after making such a fool of yourself last night. And you're not sure you can bring yourself to proposition them again now that you're sober, but you _do_ really want to know what their answer would be. Anyway, you can't right now; you aren't about to bring it up while Dolorosa is around.

Fuck it. You're being a great big wiggler about this, you decide. You sit up and rub your eyes, relieved when your brain doesn't immediately send sparks shooting through your skull as you open them again. It's definitely an improvement.

“Hey, stud,” Disciple greets you as you make your way groggily toward where everyone is clustered around a small table, sharing a meal.

“Shut up,” you retort. It's a fond 'shut up', a smile twisting your lips. “Just 'cause there's nobody adventurous enough in this town for this,” you sweep your hand down your impressive(ly knobbly) physique, “doesn't mean you get to pick on me about it.”

“Wasn't picking,” she responds, smiling through a mouthful of stew as she looks you up and down.

Oh. You feel your face get hot. She wins.

“How are you feeling?” Signless asks. He offers you a bowl of stew and you accept it as you find a seat between him and Dolorosa.

You make a noncommital noise as you dig in. “Like a dumbass with no self-control,” you admit between bites. “Better, though.”

“Sometimes it's good to let loose, even if you have to suffer the consequences later. I'm glad to hear you're doing better,” he says, dipping a piece of bread into his stew. He chews thoughtfully for a moment, then asks, “Are you well enough for a little physical activity later?”

You almost choke. Hurriedly, you gulp down some water, both to soothe your throat and to buy some time. He doesn't mean what you think he means by 'physical activity'. He wouldn't bring that up with his mother-lusus sitting right here. Would he?

Disciple laughs at you and knocks her toes against your ankle under the table. You kick back harder, sure she knows exactly where your mind went.

You lick your lips. “I—I guess. I mean. Uh. Sure?”

“You aren't planning to work him too hard, are you, Kankri?” Dolorosa asks, giving him a concerned look. “This is the first time he's been upright all day, after all.”

You won't need to be upright for what he's got in mind, if he's thinking what you're thinking. You duck your head, snickering, and mutter, “Yeah, don't work me too hard; it's my first time.”

Dolorosa swats your horns. Worth it.

Signless shakes his head, smiling. “I promise not to make him do anything he doesn't want to.”

Dolorosa makes a face, but you wave it off to say it's fine. You like that Signless always leaves it up to you to make your own bad decisions.

“Actually, I was hoping he could accompany me to a fabric seller later,” Signless continues. “She had some fine bolts of silk, but Meulin and I weren't sure which you would prefer, Mama Rosa. Mituna usually helps break our stalemates.”

You slowly take another bite of stew and nod. That's... not untrue. You do tend to step in and settle their silly disputes. You guess you could tag along on that errand.

Dolorosa cuts in before you have a chance to say anything, though. “Nonsense,” she says. “I'll go myself.”

“If you insist.” Signless finishes off his dinner and then falls into conversation with Dolorosa about where to find the shop in the market, detailing other stalls she might be interested in visiting. There are several hours left before daybreak and she should have time to have a good look around. Guess you'll be sticking around at the inn the rest of the night after all.

The whole time Signless and Dolorosa are talking, Disciple has a look on her face like the meowbeast that's gotten into the cream. You flick a stray crumb at her and she just swats it away, still smiling, and steals your last piece of bread. The fact that she's so pleased about nothing at all has you uneasy... it usually means she's up to something. Your mind is moving too slowly, still not a hundred percent online after a whole day of battling that awful hangover. You can't figure her out, but somehow you think you must be the butt of the big joke.

 

It's not until the door closes behind Dolorosa that you realize you three now have the room to yourselves for the next few hours. 

You snort out a laugh and shake your head. Signless knew. He knew as soon as he told Dolorosa about the silks that she'd want to go have a look herself rather than have your tasteless ass make the choice for her. And, of course, Disciple understood what was going on from the beginning too. _That's_ what's got her so excited. She's looking at you now like she's moments away from breaking into peals of laughter again, barely containing it by biting her lip. Wow, way to be dense, Captor.

So. Here it is. Your big chance to ask again, like Signless told you to last night. You've never felt more sober in your life... Either you're about to get as lucky as the day you met them, or they just wanted some privacy when they let you down easy.

You swallow your nerves and decide to play it off like it's no big deal, make a joke of it like you always do when things are a little too weighty for you to bear.

“So, it looks like we're alone.” You spread your arms in a stretch and then fold them behind your head while leaning back in your chair, giving both Signless and Disciple a lascivious wink.

“Mmm, it would seem so,” Signless agrees placidly. He comes in from the small cooking area and sets a steaming mug at his place at the table. “Tea?”

Disciple nods, still biting her lip and grinning. “Yes please! Make it sweet.”

You shake your head. No, tea isn't what you want right now. Maybe you _did_ misread them last night. Maybe this _is_ going to be a great big letdown party just for you. Maybe you're overthinking everything and this is just a quiet night in, and you're the only one who's got last night on your mind. Disciple wouldn't be nearly bouncing out of her seat with pent-up excitement if she were just about to tear you down, though, would she? You squabble with her, with Signless too, but you'd never delight in hurting each other...

You watch them sip their tea. They're both staring at you. It's making you uncomfortable.

“Come on, Tuna, don't you have something you want to ask us?” Disciple finally says, leaning toward you with her elbows on the table. “We've been waiting _so long_.”

“Meulin! I thought we decided to let him come to us,” Signless chides. She kicks him under the table this time, and he responds by reaching for a sugar cube and 'accidentally' knocking her elbow out from under her. “Oops. Sorry.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, face in your hands. Did she just call you Tuna? Did they both just imply they've been _waiting for you_ to make a move on them?

“He did, though! Last night, he did,” you hear Meulin protest.

“Yes, while inebriated,” Signless interjects. “You know a drunk person can't give proper consent.”

“He's not drunk _now_.”

“No, but he might not feel the same way he did last night. Which—oof!—is why we can't just assume he's going to ask again.”

You can't believe this is happening. Signless and Disciple are scuffling with each other across the table, literally fighting over whether or not you want to pail them right now (you do, of course you do). They're acting like two-sweep-old wigglers because apparently they fucking care about you that much and you love them both so much it hurts, and you are _so exasperated_ with them right now.

“Sitting _right here_ ,” you remind them, rubbing at your temples. You're sparking, blue and red light dancing around your horns, thiiis close to prying them apart with your psionics.

Thank fuck you don't have to. That reminder is enough to get Signless to let go of Disciple's hair, and for her to release his cloak and his horn.

Signless clears his throat. “Sorry.”

Disciple chews on a claw. “Yeah, sorry,” she says, though she doesn't sound it. “But if you _are_ going to ask, you totally should--!”

“Meulin!” Signless roars, his chair scudding against the floor as he stands abruptly.

She quiets. It's not often he loses his temper, truly loses it, especially with her.

He sits again, deflated. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled.”

“Apology accepted. ...I was pushing it, though.” She turns to you and places a warm hand on your arm. “Sorry, Mituna. You don't have to.”

You sigh, staring at the table. “It's fine. Just. Give me a minute.”

You still haven't processed everything. It's overwhelming, even just the idea that they want this, want _you_ , and have just been waiting for you to say the word. You've been holding yourself back and bottling your feelings for them up so long, thinking they were off limits. Any normal troll couple would be. It just _does not compute_ that it could be that easy, but then again none of you are exactly 'normal'. You like it that way. It's what makes them special. It's also, apparently, what's giving you a chance with both of them at once. Strict quads have never been much of a thing with them... You chew on your lower lip, scraggly fangs digging in to the soft flesh. You can't find the words to voice everything you're feeling.

So you don't say anything. Instead, you take Disciple's hand in yours and reach for Signless' too. Then you lean down and press your lips first to the back of Disciple's hand, then to the back of Signless'. That's a start, that's good.

Signless lets out a little 'oh!' sound, soft and tender. Disciple squeezes your hand.

It's such a sweet moment, of course you have to drag it down into the gutter. You join their hands together between yours and then you lick the crease that makes. “Signless, Disciple...if I said I want your body,” you whisper against both their hands, “would you hold it against me?”

“Oh my god, _finally_!” Disciple cries, bouncing up out of her seat and nearly yanking you across the table with her. Before you can extract your hand from hers, she's at your side, hugging you tightly, kissing your face, your hair, getting on tiptoe to _lick_ your horn.

“I'll hold it against you... only if you say my name,” Signless says, meeting your eyes as he comes to join you both. He gets his arms around you and Disciple and gets his face right up next to yours. His breath is warm on your ear. “Can you do that for me, Mituna?”

“Please... Kankri,” you choke out. That may be the first time you've dared call him by name. He hums his appreciation and takes your earlobe between his teeth. You shudder.

“Now hers,” Signless—no, Kankri whispers. This is intimate enough... you have to get used to using their personal names now.

“Mmm, Meulin!” You gasp her name as she laves at your neck and takes a firm hold of your ass.

“Good, that's so good.” Kankri's voice is warm and husky. “No more titles. We're closer than that, aren't we?”

He presses himself against you and you draw in a breath. “Yeah. We're—yeah. Close.”

You want to be closer to them both, even though they're both already tight against you. You let your hands wander, one carding through Meulin's hair until you reach the end and then continuing to slide over the soft curve of her ass, the other hand moving over Kankri's broad back. Even over the cloak you can feel the taut, solid muscle underneath.

“Come on, let's go play in the nice, big bed! It's a perfect pailing platform!” Meulin takes hold of both you and Kankri and pulls you forward, leading you awkwardly away from the table. She lets go when you move to follow her and casually strips off her clothes as she makes her way to the other side of the room.

“Wow,” you breathe. You're staring. She's curvy but the way she moves is all confident grace and agile, precise movements. She's every bit the huntress, and you feel like a stunned prongbeast in her wake—rangy, thin, stupidly fragile, and all jangling nerves.

“Gorgeous, isn't she?” Kankri murmurs.

You nod, tearing your eyes away from Meulin only to get them caught on him next. He's nearly naked already, too, cloak tossed aside, leggings pushed down as he steps out of them. God, he's muscular. Sturdy and thick and solid, robust in a way you definitely are not.

You swallow. What the hell do they want you for when they've got each others' perfection already? Suddenly you feel so exposed, even though you're the only one still fully clothed. They're going to see the bony, scarred-up mess that you are underneath and be so fucking let down.

“Come on, come on!” Meulin beckons from where she's kneeling on the bed.

Kankri notices your hesitation.

“Do you still want to do this, Mituna?”

You lick your lips. Your mouth is so dry. You want them, you want them so badly it aches deep in your gut. “Yeah. Yeah, I do, I _really_ do, I just... um.” 

They're just so comfortable in their own bodies, so comfortable doing this, like they've done it a million times, and you're so... not. You've done this only a handful of times, and it was always hurried and quick, and never with anyone who _mattered_ like they matter to you. It's scary, all right? But you do want it. You take a breath and start peeling out of your clothes.

The zipper at your back sticks. Of course it does. “Shit. _Shit_.” You tug at it, feeling more ridiculous and out of place by the second.

“Here, let me.” Kankri comes close to face you, then wraps his arms around you to place his hands over yours. He looks at you warmly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Okay?” 

You nod and let your arms fall. It's easier to let him do it. His hands are gentle and steady, and he doesn't make a move to push your suit down for you, just pulls the zipper down as far as it needs to go. “Thank you,” you whisper, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

“My pleasure,” he whispers back. Hesitantly, you press a kiss to his jawline. He hums and parts his lips, turning ever so slightly toward you... inviting.

You catch Meulin's eye over his shoulder and see her nodding her head. “Kiss him, kiss him with fang, he likes it a lot!”

Kankri hears that and his lips twitch into a smile, but he doesn't move or say anything. He's waiting for you to make a move.

So you do.

You kiss him like you've wanted to for so long, tentatively at first, testing... when he doesn't pull away, you kiss him deeper, and your fangs do get in the way, clicking against his, mashing against his soft lips, but then you twine your tongue with his and _oh_ it's good, better than you imagined. You moan into his mouth and breathe deeply, drinking him in, warm and solid and slick and _real_.

He chirrs softly, a sweet vibration you feel all the way through his chest where your hands have found themselves, and the answering chirrup you make is so loud and broken that it startles you out of the kiss.

Kankri looks at you hazy-eyed as you pull away and licks his lips, smoothing his hands down your sides. “Mmm, that sound goes straight to my bulge.”

You feel the tips of your ears get hot. “Oh,” you croak. “Oh, good.”

Your own bulges pulse in your sheath and you finally decide it's time to get out of your clothes, otherwise you'll be making a mess of them. You'd rather bite this bullet and submit yourself to Kankri and Meulin's scrutiny than have to explain the stains to Dolorosa later.

Kankri doesn't leave your side as you undress, and you're grateful, partly because his presence is reassuring and partly because you end up face-to-face with his nook and sheath as you bend down to get your feet free. His bulge is starting to peek out and there's red-tinged slick dripping down his inner thigh already, holy fuck. You got him that turned on already?

The air is chilly and you shiver as you stand. Kankri is looking you up and down, his gaze lingering on your more prominent scars. He reaches out to run warm fingers over the thick, ropy one that cuts through your lowermost lefthand grubscar, and you shiver again. Your belly clenches as his fingers smooth over your prominent hipbone, then brush your thigh, then pull away.

“You're so beautiful, Mituna,” he breathes.

Your bloodpusher squeezes and you shake your head. “There must be something wrong with your eyes if that's what you think. Maybe you need magnifying oculars.” You huff out a mirthless laugh. 

_He_ is beautiful. Meulin is. The thing is, you know he's being truthful. It's one of his best qualities, and the one that gets him into the most trouble. He won't lie even if his life literally depends on it.

“I can see fine. I see the marks life has left on you,” he says, reverently touching another of your scars. “I see your strength in surviving it. There is so much power contained in this beautiful frame--” Kankri leans in and kisses your chest, right where your bloodpusher is hammering hard, “--how could I not marvel at it?”

“Oh my god, stop; you're ridiculous,” you whisper, shoving at his face with your hand. Your cheeks are flushing and there's a smile tugging at your lips, and... all right, maybe you feel a little less self-conscious.

Kankri laughs and takes your hand, leading you toward the bed where Meulin is waiting.

“I'm with Kankri!” she calls as you approach, “it's a fact, you're a total babe!”

You snort out a laugh. They're both blind, apparently.

“Whoa,” you say, taking in the scene on the bed. Meulin works fast—she's covered the whole thing with a soft hopbeast-pelt spread and is seated on it, legs splayed as she plays with her own bulge.

“Whoa yourself,” she says, scooting over to make room for both you and Kankri. “What you boys were doing to each other was so hot I couldn't even!” Couldn't even what? Wait, you guess, judging by the way her bulge is curling around her slicked fingers. You feel the tips of your own start to push out just at the sight.

You're staring yet again. Even as Kankri helps you up onto the bed and settles you between them, you can't take your eyes off Meulin's vibrant green bulge. It's such a lithe coil of muscle; every squeeze you see it give her hand makes your nook clench. She leans over you and kisses Kankri, purring for him as her fingers play with her twisting bulge. “That was so good, babe,” she murmurs to him. “Mmm, think I like being in on the action better, though.”

“I like your bulge,” you say, then wince as you realize how fucking stupid it sounds.

Meulin smiles. “Wanna touch?”

She offers herself to you, reaching her hand out with her bulge still wrapped around it. Your eyes flick up to her face then back down to her bulge and you lick your lips. Hell yes you want to touch it. You let it find your fingers and feel it clutch at them. Holy shit, it's strong like the rest of her. She hums and leans back, letting her legs fall further apart as you take a firmer grasp, working her harder. All right, _this_ you know how to do. 

Apparently, Meulin agrees. She starts rocking her hips in time with your strokes, her head rolling back on her shoulders. “Ah! Yes! Fuck, Mituna, that's so good!”

“Get some fingers in her nook too,” Kankri advises, wrapping himself around your back. You can feel his bulge pressing against your ass. Oh, fuck, that's hot. He kisses and nibbles at your neck as he reaches his arms around you, his hands rubbing at your grubscars. _So_ hot.

You take that advice, letting two of your fingers dip into Meulin's dripping nook. You're careful; you know not to let your claws scrape the sensitive flesh within. She keens as you twist your fingers in her and pushes herself down on your hand hard. Whoa, apparently Meulin likes it rough. 

You watch her rumble spheres heave as she gasps for breath, and suddenly you want to touch those too. This time you don't ask, you just reach up with your free hand and cup one, rolling it in your hand as you massage inside her with your other hand.

Meulin growls and pushes herself up so that she can capture your mouth in a fierce kiss, her hips surging forward and onto your fingers as far as they'll go. “So good, Mituna; you're so good at this! Please, can I have your bulge too?” she pants.

“Heh. Two,” you murmur.

She makes a questioning noise, nibbling at your lower lip.

“He's got two of them, Meu,” Kankri says, his voice low and rough and _admiring_. His fingers have been stroking your sheath, playing with the twin tips of your bulges and coaxing them further out. The tone of his voice makes you squirm and you finally fully unsheathe into his waiting hand. You're used to some degree of surprise whenever a partner discovers your mutation extends below the belt, but admiration? That's new.

You rock your ass back against Kankri and feel his thick bulge slide between your cheeks. Oh, that's good. Your nook pulses and you feel slick heat dripping down your thighs.

“Two bulges?” Meulin looks down between you, then back up at you, grinning fit to split. “Double the fun!”

You lean in and kiss her hard. She's delighted by you, and you're so fucking smitten with her you can't stand it. She lies down on the bed and pulls you down on top of her, spreading her legs as wide as they'll go and shifting her hips until you can feel your bulges rubbing against her soft, wet nook. “Mmphffuck!”

Meulin purrs and reaches down between you to help guide your bulges into her waiting nook. The first one slides in easily, the second is more stubborn.

“Kankri, could you--?” she says, voice breathy. She makes a grabby hand for him with her free one, and you can feel him lean over you to reach a hand down. He hums his assent and seems to know exactly what to do, parting her nook further with his fingers, gently coaxing your second bulge to find the widened opening.

“Ah, fuck!” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut tight and twining your hands in her hair as she takes you. Meulin moans and chirrs, taking all of you like a goddamn bulge master.

You can't help pumping your hips as your bulges swell and writhe and push deeper into her tight heat. She keeps crooning to you, telling you how good and full it feels, gasping every time your bulges hit a sweet spot, peppering your face with sloppy kisses. It's glorious. _She's_ glorious. You tell her so, brokenly, over and over as your bulges work their way ever deeper until there's no more left to go.

Meulin bounces her hips, making the bed creak and drawing a long wailing cry from you as her tight walls squeeze your bulges so good it makes them ache.

“Fuck, that's hot,” Kankri murmurs from behind you, “so _fucking_ hot, _fuck_.”

He's a solid, warm weight against your back, rocking gently but infuriatingly inobtrusively in time with Meulin's thrusts, one of his hands stroking your side and hip and his other stroking Meulin's thrashing bulge and your belly along with it. You can feel his bulge, slick and hot between your ass cheeks, but it's not enough.

“Kankri,” you moan, “I want—I want more.”

“Mmh, anything, love, anything at all,” he rumbles, sucking at that tender spot where neck and shoulder meet.

“Get in me,” you growl, lifting your ass enough to let his bulge tease the edge of your throbbing nook. It also draws you out of Meulin a little, who pushes forward to take you again, and you both groan happily as your bulges lash within her.

You don't have to tell Kankri twice. He chirrs and you feel it resonate through your whole body, then he lifts you just enough to get his bulge in line with your nook. Kankri pushes in and you push right back, groaning at the stretch of him filling you. It stings at first; he's _thick_ and so hot. He stills, waiting for you to be ready. You're ready _now_ , you're determined to be; maybe it's been a while since you've done this but this isn't the first time you've had a bulge in your nook. You don't want him to treat you so fragile.

“Don't stop,” you grumble, rolling your hips.

He huffs out a laugh and kisses the back of your neck as he thrusts harder. _Yes_. Meulin rocks forward every time Kankri pulls back, and they set a gorgeous rhythm, and you—you just ride the wave. Fuck yes, _this_ is what you wanted, for them both to be fucking you at once, filled up with and buried in hot, wet tightness. You can feel the pressure building at the base of your spine, and you just let it build and build.

It's just right and too much and you can't—you can't—you feel your whole body tense as your orgasm takes you, your bulges swelling and starting to pump hot slurry into Meulin. Oh, oh no, oh god, you're going to make a mess, you shouldn't, you have to—

“Pail!”

Meulin clenches down around you and wraps her arms around your shoulders when you try to pull away, and Kankri groans and presses his hips hard against you, his bulge squirming as your nook squeezes him tight. Helplessly, you empty yourself into Meulin.

“Don't you go anywhere!” she cries, claws digging into your upper arms. “Ah, yes! I want it!”

She spills over you not long after, shaking and calling your name, her nook spasming and milking the very last drop of material out of you.

“You're amazing,” Meulin pants as you both come down, petting your face as you collapse bonelessly on her.

“No, you,” is the best response you can manage.

“Both of you,” Kankri says, his voice strained. He's stilled behind you, bulge still buried in your nook. You can feel his whole body trembling—he's holding himself back.

“Hey, who said you could stop?” you complain, tensing your muscles so your inner walls squeeze him good. It makes you hiss, oversensitized as you are, but fuck it, you want him to come too. In you.

Kankri chokes on a moan. “I thought—I'd give you a minute,” he pants.

“Quit being so thoughtful all the time; it's disgusting.”

Meulin laughs and you grin. Turning on the Captor charm.

Kankri tweaks one of your grubscars and you yelp, but then he's moving in you again, rutting hard and erratic, and oh _yes_ , it's good. It doesn't take long for him to come—he pushes hard into you once, twice, and then shudders. You feel the hot flood of his slurry fill you, and you let out a long buzzing chirr that he answers raspily. It stretches you, makes you feel heavy and full, warm and sated and so, so good.

“Yeah, okay,” you murmur into Meulin's hair as Kankri goes limp on top of you. “Being filled... way better than using a pail.”

“Damn right!” Meulin agrees. “Wait til you release it—feels almost as good as coming!”

Goddamn, you love these kinky fuckers.

“Next time it's my turn,” Kankri rumbles, draped across your back and nibbling lazily at the nape of your neck. “I want to try your bulges too, Mituna. Can't let Meu have all the fun.”

Your breath hitches. 

“Next time?”

You didn't think, were _afraid_ to think, about if there could be a next time. You want that, you want _them_ , so much. But you were prepared to just go with it if it was just this once--

“Well, duh! Welcome to the ship!” Meulin chirps.

Oh. Wow. That hits you harder than anything yet. Your pusher sticks in your throat and your eyes prickle, and you have to bury your face further into Meulin's hair before you can embarrass yourself. The _ship_. That means... they want you to be a part of this, of them? You didn't fucking dare hope...

“Mituna? Is that okay?” Kankri asks, rubbing soft circles over your grubscars. “It's all right if you just want this to be a... friends with benefits kind of arrangement. I won't deny that we were hoping you'd want more, but your comfort is what's most important, so--”

“Shhh, shut up,” you say, swatting at him as best you can while he's on top of you. “You talk too much.”

You lie there between them and try to compose yourself. Kankri obligingly doesn't say anything further, and Meulin stays surprisingly quiet as well. She drags her claws soothingly over your skin, probably over Kankri's too. You let it relax you, breathing slow and even, soft hands moving so gently over you, warm bodies pressed to yours. Yeah, you could get used to this.

“I want that,” you finally whisper, almost too quietly to hear. “I want to be a part of your filthy quadsmear of a ship.”

Meulin hugs both you and Kankri to her, letting out an ear-piercing squeal of delight, while Kankri tries to kiss the side of your face and ends up slobbering all over your ear. You can't breathe and your thoracic cage is slowly being crushed between them, but that doesn't matter right now. You love it. You love _them_. If this is how you die, so be it.

 

Somehow, you don't die. Once they've calmed down, they take good care of you, helping you up and helping you out and making sure you're comfortable and clean and safe and warm. The bed gets cleared, the slurry gets taken care of, Meulin shows you the best way to release it while all three of you are in the ablution trap. You've never felt so pampered in your life.

When it's all over, Kankri makes tea again. This time you accept. You feel worn out, but in a good way, and you're so happy it's honestly a little disorienting. You're all huddled at the table again, tired, worn out, warm, satisfied.

“So,” you say, giving your new ship a lazy smirk. “Does this mean I can't use my pick-up lines on anyone anymore?”

“No, feel free to keep getting shot down as many times as you like,” Kankri says with a serene smile.

Oh, ouch. You chuckle.

“Don't worry, Tuna,” Meulin chimes in, “when you get tired of getting turned down, just use a really clever line on me! It'll always work, I promise!”

“Thanks, Meulin.” You rest your head on her shoulder. “It's nice to know you've got my back.”

And your heart, your spade, your diamond, and your club. They both do. For now and for always, there's nobody else you'd rather hit on more.

You'll have to come up with some new ones to try on them soon...


End file.
